The Lost Prince
by thekeeperofwords
Summary: Alanna was unable to save Jon from the Sickness. Now Roger has prevailed. His plans are working out perfectly until a young man shows up,a boy everyone thought was dead. How can Roger claim the throne now?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own no one but Michael, and even he's SORTA Tammy's. The plot is mine, but everything else is Tammy's. I am aware that the first part is from pages 99-103 in AtFA.

Myles grabbed her shoulders. "Alan, this can't continue! Your Gift! Use it!"

"I've been using it!" she cried. "And I haven't the training--"

"Go inside yourself then! Can't you see he's dying?

Alanna looked at the fire. It roared hungrily in the hearth, waiting for her. She rubbed her eyes

. Already she was tired from the little spells and charms she had used during the day.

She picked up the last packet of herbs. It contained vervain. She had known all along it would come to this. She opened it dully, staring at the brittle leaves inside.

"Coram. Timon." Her voice sounded dead. "You'd better leave.

Coram stepped forward. "Lad--" he began worriedly. He looked at her face and sighed. Let's go, Timon," he said. "We don't want to be here when they start foolin' with serious magic." They left, and Myles bolted the door.

Alanna threw the vervain onto the fire. She had no business trying magic like this. She was no sorcerer, and sorcerers far older and stronger than she had failed to master the forces she now sought to call upon.

A moan from the bed reminded her why she was there. Kneeling before the flames, she whispered the words that Maude had taught her would call the Greater Powers--the gods. Slowly, very slowly, because she was tired, the flames turned violet. She reached both hands into the purple fire.

Her essence, the stuff that made her Alanna, streamed out through her palms. She was dissolving into the fire; she was the fire. Then she uttered the spell that Maude had told her to use only when nothing else was left.

"Dark Goddess, great Mother, show me the way. Open the gates to me. Guide me, Mother of mountains and mares--"

The fire roared up with a sound like a thunderclap. Alanna's body jerked, but she couldn't move away from the hearth. The fire filled her eyes. She saw countless gates and doors opening in front of her. Suddenly,--there it was: the city, the city carved in all black, glossy stone, the one she had seen in Maude's fireplace. The sun beat down on her. She was very, very warm. The city called to her, its beautiful towers and shining streets singing in her brain.

The city vanished. Now raw energy rammed through Alanna's arms, into her body. She choked back a gasp as her flesh turned into purple fire contained only by her skin. She glowed, she shimmered, she burned with raw magic. It hurt. Every part of her screamed for cold and dark to put out the fire. She couldn't hold it. She would burst like a rotten fruit.

A voice spoke, and Alanna screamed. That voice, it was never meant to be heard by human ears. "_Call him back,"_ it chimed. _"I am here. Call him back."_

Tears ran down her cheeks. The voice and the pain were killing her. The fire was eating her alive, like a tiger.

Something inside her rebelled. She clenched her fists and fought the pain. She ground her teeth together. She would ride this tiger. Her body had never given the orders before--she could not let it start now. _Am I a silly child?_ she thought angrily. _Or am I a warrior?_

She fought back, shoving the pain away until she had it under control. Now she ruled the power she had pulled from the flames. She rode the tiger. She was a warrior!

Alanna walked to the bed. Myles got out of her way. He had watched, helpless, when Alan screamed as he turned a bright, sparkling amethyst. The color had dimmed, but Alan continued to shine with a pale purple fire. Myles sensed that if he touched Alan now, he would be burned to death.

Alanna stood beside the bed, looking down at Jonathan. He seemed so far away, so far from her. _"He has traveled a long way," _that terrible voice said. _"Take his hands. Call him back."_

A small part of Alanna realized that the voice was female. "Thank you," she whispered.

She took Jonathan's hands carefully. He mind reached into his unseeing eyes.

"Jonathan," Alanna called. "It's time to come home, Jon."

Myles stared. He did not hear a boy-child calling the prince. He heard a woman's voice, speaking from eternities away. Awed by a power he could not understand, the knight moved even farther from the bed.

Alanna fell into the blue depths of her friend's eyes. She was twisting in a black, writhing well. The alien place pulsed around her, enclosing her like a living thing. Shrieks and cackling and the screams of doomed souls sounded all around her. She was on the edge, between the world of living and the underworld. She drifted between Life and Death.

"Jon," she called steadily, feeling the power in her shove the ugliness back. "Jon." At least she could see him. He was far below her, near the bottom of the well, near Death. A huge, dark shadow shaped like a hooded man came between them. Even in her strange state Alanna was afraid. This must be the Dark God, the Master of all death.

It was crazy to argue with a god, but he was between her and hr friend. "Excuse me," she said politely. "But you can't have him. Not yet. He's going to come back with me."

The shadowy hands reached for her. Alanna stood still, her mind sending up a shield of purple fire. "You can't have him," she said more firmly.

The shadow hands passed through her shield and held her by the shoulders. After several moments the god shook his great head. Alanna was immediately filled with a sense of foreboding and despair. Slowly the Black God sank away. Jonathan faded along with him. With a jolt, Alanna was back on Jonathan's bed. Tears were coursing freely down her cheeks when she listened for his breath or heartbeat, and heard nothing. Jonathan of Conte, the Prince of Tortall and heir to the throne, was dead


	2. A new heir

Myles quickly hurried forward, a look of terror on his face. He could rightly assume that young Prince Jonathan was dead. Alanna feebly shook Jon's shoulder. She could not believe that the Black God had measured her and found her unworthy. Her friend Jon was dead. She could not save him. Numbly she noticed Myles's comforting hand on her shoulder. She drew a shuddering breath and sent him to inform the King, as Roald had bidden.

Alanna didn't know how long she sat alone on Jon's bed before a soft knock brought hr out of her paralysis. She looked towards the door, eyes red and tearstained. Gary and Raoul admitted themselves. 

"Alan?" Gary quickly strode forward.

"Alan? What happened?" Raoul's face was set with concern.

Alanna couldn't bring herself to speak. She helplessly plucked at Jon's tunic and buried her face in her hands.

"He's dead," she heard Gary conclude softly.

"May the Black God rest his passing," Raoul whispered. His voce was thick with sorrow. Alanna looked up to see both of the boys looking helpless and lost. Raoul sat down next to her as Gary knelt by his cousin. Soon they were joined by the King, Queen, Duke Gareth, and Myles.

The Queen went into a fit of hysterics at the sight of her dead son. Roald went pale and pulled his wife into his arms. The grim reality of the situation hit everyone hard. Jonathan was dead. Roger would become the heir.

________________________________________________________________________

Roger leaned over the railing of the ship as it was coming into Port Caynn's harbor. The salty sea breeze ruffled his dark hair. He had heard the news several days past that his cousin had died. Of course, the Duke had planned for such. Finally, the throne would be his. 

At shore he was greeted by Duke Gareth, Lord Martin, and several other important nobles. All were in mourning, and they wore somber black. Roger had donned black clothes just before they sailed into port. Truthfully he could not be more blithe at the prospect of Jonathan's death.

"Hello, Roger," Gareth said solemnly. "How are you feeling?"

Roger put on an expression of regret. "I must admit, my outlook is dreary. It's a horrible thing that has happened."

The others nodded gravely. All were awed in the presence of the Conte Duke.

Once all of Roger's belongings were unloaded and loaded back onto a wagon, the party set off for Corus.

________________________________________________________________________

Roald and Lianne sat together in their suites.

"So you're sure we should make Roger the heir?" Lianne asked timidly.

"It is the law. He is the closest blood relative."

"Well…no. That isn't true. Michael is the rightful heir."

"My darling, Michael and Jonathan are both dead. We must admit to the truth," Roald said sternly. Lianne looked down.

"Of course."

(a/n: I know, this wasn't very good, but DON'T GIVE UP ON ME! I know it seems sorta…predictable, but I will make it good! I promise!


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